I compel you to love your country. To draw her into your arms ever so tenderly, to embrace her softly, dearly to your heart, to huddle close, near together her masses and sense her least sustained yearning. I compel you to love your country. A nation that lifted the breast of humanity caressing it tenderly toward equality’s rapture with gentle fingers of selfless, searing desire exploring over her ever toward paradise. I compel you to love your country. Freedom lovers damp in stiff-limbed writhing stumbling kisses upon red-barreled bravery, softly probing her robust and supple liberty, heed now her cries of woeful sovereignty! I compel you to love your country. Between her Trail of Tears and Mount Misery she still waits upon the coupled plains of affection ready for our design and mastery of this worlds love panting heavy expectation upon her shape. I compel you to love your country. Perched upon the shore of Rolles Creek she waits with Mount Pleasant in reach of her
(The Weaver's Song)